


Trouble

by Augustus



Category: Dad's Army
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-28
Updated: 2003-10-28
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble times two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble

"You're a troublemaker, you are," Jones snapped, glaring at the Verger as his hand strayed to the rifle that was slung across his back.

"You're the troublemaker," Yeatman argued, taking another step towards Jones.

"Mister Mainwaring wouldn't like it if he knew you were misusing his office in this manner," Jones said, his voice wavering a little as the Verger placed a possessive hand on his belt buckle, his fingers deftly twisting and looping the leather.

Yeatman rolled his eyes. "Mister Mainwaring can get-..."

Jones clapped a hand over the other man's mouth. "Now, I won't have you saying those things about Mister Mainwaring. He's a good man and a good Captain and I'll beg you to keep your filthy opinions to yourself."

The Verger bit lightly at the inside of Jones' palm. As Jones pulled away in horrified surprise, he shook his head. "It's not really Mainwaring's office anyway," he argued. "The Reverend lends it to him out of love for King and Country and the goodness of his heart."

"He lends it to him for an extra pound of sausages each month," Jones replied bluntly. "But don't you dare go telling Mister Mainwaring that, because he hasn't the slightest inkling, as it were. The Vicar likes his sausages, he does."

"Really?" The Verger looked interested for a moment before shaking his head and returning the full intensity of his gaze to Jones.

"What are you doing?" Jones snapped, his voice a little more worried than it was demanding. "Looking at me with your beady little eyes..."

Smirking, the Verger slid his hand down the front of Jones' over-starched trousers. "Causing trouble," he replied, his eyes glinting.

Jones' own eyes widened at the contact. He coughed nervously, wriggling slightly beneath the gentle weight of the Verger's touch. "When I was in the Sudan," he began, his voice shaky, "no one ever infringed on the privacy of my trouser area..."

"Ah yes, but in the Sudan, they didn't like it up 'em, did they, Jonesy?"

Jones blinked, stiffening as the Verger stepped a little closer, bathing Jones' neck with the warmth of his breath. "That's right, Mister Yeatman," he stammered. "They didn't like it at all."

"It's lucky that _I do_ , then, isn't it?"

A look of pure, blind terror gathered on Jones' face. "I... You..." After a few attempts at speech, he gave up, the decision aided somewhat by a further advance on the behalf of the Verger that resulted in Jones' mouth becoming otherwise occupied by the sudden onset of a rather enthusiastic kiss.

Initially, Jones tried to back away from the contact, but after a couple of small steps the back of his thighs pressed up against the pointed edge of the church office desk and Jones found himself quite effectively trapped between the desk and the Verger's over-zealous lips. "What are you doing?" he asked a second time, as the Verger paused to take a much needed breath.

"I would have thought that was perfectly obvious," Yeatman replied, leaning in for another kiss.

Panicking slightly, Jones climbed onto the desk, pushing the various piles of Mainwaring and the Reverend's papers into considerable disarray as he propelled himself backwards across the highly polished wood. Without the assistance of his belt, his trousers began to slide down his legs, pooling at his knees and tangling his attempt at escape.

"I'll tell the Vicar," he warned in desperation as a paperweight prodded him in a very uncomfortable place. "I'm sure he'd like to hear about the things you get up to when he's out drinking tea with his parishioners."

"Just as I'm sure that Mister Mainwaring would be very interested in that photograph of him that you keep beside your bed...," the Verger countered, placing both hands on the flat surface of the desk and leaning in towards Jones.

Jones' cheeks reddened with a mix of annoyance and mild embarrassment. "I've always said you were a troublemaker," he said - and promptly fell backwards off the desk, his trousers trapping his legs and rendering them useless for anything beyond waving futilely in the air as Jones struggled to take a breath.

The Verger laughed heartily, momentarily distracted from his previous intentions.

"I don't know what's so funny," Jones grumbled.

Yeatman laughed a little louder in response. "Honestly, Jack, does it have to be like this _every single time_?" he asked in between snickers. "I mean, the thrill of the chase is all very well, but neither of us is as young as we used to be and, quite frankly, I'm not sure that I see the point."

Jones grinned sheepishly as he emerged from behind the desk, holding his trousers up with one hand. "How long is it now? Twenty years?"

"Twenty-five, come next March." The Verger looked at his watch. "Speaking of which, your Parade starts in twenty-five minutes and it's getting a little chilly in here..."

Jones blinked rapidly. "I'd like to volunteer to warm you up, Mister Yeatman," he said, snapping a quick salute. As he raised his hand, his trousers fell, no longer caught within his grasp.

The Verger eyed him appreciatively. "Very good, Lance Corporal," he said, taking Jones by the collar and pulling him in for another kiss.

**~fin~  
28th October 2003**


End file.
